


Moonlight

by VergerBloom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Hannibal and Will in Cuba, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergerBloom/pseuds/VergerBloom
Summary: Will and Hannibal share their first kiss on the run in Cuba. Takes place after the end of Season 3.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Moonlight

Cuba is hot. And crowded.

The streets from outside our top floor window in Varadero are bustling, even as noon approaches, the blue sky fading into dusky rose as the evening sets in. Hannibal said it was better like this; easier to hide in plain sight, blend in with all the other faces. I hear the stream of the shower quiet and minutes later Hannibal walks into the bedroom wearing the clothes we bought earlier; a blue silk shirt and black trousers, his feet bare. I almost stifle a laugh; he looks so normal, so metrapolitan, sunglasses tucked into the button hole of his undone shirt. I feel a thrill go through me at the sight of his exposed skin, glimmering a little with perspiration, and lift my eyes up to his. He's watching me intently, the vacant look from weeks ago gone. I think I see mirth there too, just a glint of it, and my neck flushes.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he gestures to the people outside the window, bathed in the striking light of the sun, "All these people, we are anonymous among them." It's as though the sun never loses power here, just burns and burns like a furnace. I think of Wolf Trap, of the snow and the cold and the pale grey sky. Again, it feels like recalling somebody else's memories.

"Like being pulled under by the current of the sea," I reply, and I see his mouth quirk up. He turns back to me, sitting on the bed so that he's facing me, and grips my chin gently, surveying my face. "You've almost healed," he says, eyes flicking over my face appraisingly. I feel vulnerable, suddenly, like he's seeing me for the first time, and that same flush creeps up the tan skin of my neck. He notices, and it seems to please him.

I swallow, then lift my eyes to his. "Have you?"

He leans back, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his face, then lifts his shirt, his smooth skin dappled with scarring wounds. He holds my gaze for a moment longer before dropping the material.

A silence stretches out between us, punctuated only by the chirping of birds and the chatter of the people on the streets. He's looking out of the window still, the sun on his skin, and I feel as though I am asleep, that this is some strange, bewildering dream, that I will wake up in cold, sweated, sheets, snow falling outside the window of my house, like a solitary ship in a wide, wide, ocean.

"Do you dream of it, Will, of falling?" he asks suddenly, voice quiet. His eyes are on me again.  
I look at him, taking in his damp hair and flushed cheeks. He looks almost gentle, hands in his lap, eyes clear and bright. I have seen those hands do terrible, unspeakable, things. Hands that he has held to my forehead as I wept, held me up with as I bled, held me down with as he attacked. Now they feel almost safe, he feels safe, or at least known, like the only thing I really understand.

"Of falling? No," I reply, my voice just as soft. The evening tourists' voices are beginning to fade, the room transitioning from gold to silver as the sun finally makes its descent into the sea.

"Of what then?" he asks, eyes flicking over my face.

"Of moonlight," I say, a little louder, as if suddenly sure of myself. "I dream of the moonlight on the cliff, and the blood on the ground, and your hands on my back," I say. He's watching me, like he did in our many therapy sessions in Baltimore, where I was pretending to pretend to understand. "But I always wake up before we fall."

He nods, then slowly, as if approaching a startled deer, moves towards me on the bed. There's no sound now, aside from the ticking of the clock on the mantle and my heartbeat in my ears, my neck. He presses his hand right over the pulse point, our noses touching, then, just as gently, presses his lips to mine. It's a chaste kiss, quiet, like the calm before an uncoming storm. I lift my hands up to cup his cheeks, his skin warm under my palms, press my chest against his. When I finally pull away, his eyes are fluttered shut, and when he opens them, his mouth just above mine, his face is all I see.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 4 am and it shows lol
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
